Project You

Chapter 8

I always thought loneliness was almost like a thick blanket that was physically impossibly to get out of.

Its a suffocating blanket, warm but not a comforting warmth, warm in a threatening way, warm like like a fire.

Loneliness is like those sharp pains the body gets, some from your left to your right and to the side of your head, the pain on the side of your stomach that makes you jolt or that sensation of falling in your sleep and you wake up with your eyes wide and confused and disoriented- or maybe Im exaggerating it.

But loneliness to me? Its always been an infection, spread across my body, like a pain that will never subside, like an ache that i'll have to carry my whole life and continue to live with because its simply not erasable.

Its a disease.

Loneliness is weird.

Its addictive.

Im addicted to pain, at least I think I am. Some part of me wants to stay alive, chooses to stay alive, because I want to see if it ever gets better but everyday is just as painful at the last.

Im addicted to being alone, and im addicted to pain, and the longer im alone, the longer my pain seems to last, yet I never choose to be with anyone else, I choose to be alone.

Tuesday morning at 4am I sit alone on my bed and stare at a pack of razors i'd bought earlier in the morning, a pack of razors that I used to keep nearby when I was seventeen, a pack of razors that made me feel something more than an emotional pain.

But now, the razors don't look as appealing as I wanted them to look. And I think maybe its because I don't want to hurt anymore, not physically or emotionally. I think it's that my body is telling me the numb is okay but my head is yearning for some blood to drip down my wrist and curl over my finger tips before it stains the pristine white sheets.

I think I have a problem, but im not gonna do anything about it.

When I was younger, around sixteen i'd think I was overdramatic, and sometimes I still do.

I used to think I cared too much, that I was the one overthinking my life but as I grew I realized my life was shitty and it was okay to feel at pity with myself after everything.

That was only supposed to last a few days but it lasted a lifetime and here I was, staring at razors as I sat on my bed at 4am.

I looked up to the clock, a heavy feeling in my throat, my head, my heart.

It was 5am now.

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The weather was thankfully not too cold when I got to my last class of the day, warm but not too warm so i'd taken off my jacket and put it in my bag, only holding my water bottle as I sipped on some of its contents.

Classes were the same as everyday either too boring, too long, fun, but fun in my way which was probably not fun to others but painting was my favorite class of the day which was a good sign, having something be the favorite part of my day meant it was going fine.

And here I was now, off to sculpting after a week of avoidance.

In the morning when i'd gotten out of bed to shower i'd opened my phone and saw an email from my professor asking to see me.

I knew what she wanted to discuss, but I wasn't going to my class for her, I was going to class for myself, to get my work done and mostly to stop putting of the inevitable.

Last night after I went to the coffee shop with Karsen i'd half come to terms with the fact that I had to work with him for this project, I say half come to terms because some part of me still wanted to work alone.